EPILOGUE

5 Years Later

Henri

Running a hand down my chest, I smooth my tie. In front of me, Bryan is fiddling with his camera gear and muttering under his breath. Behind me, Detroit’s NHL team is in the locker room after a very hard-fought-for win against Toronto. The door opens, and a still-dressed Max Kuemper steps out with a smile already on his face. I return it, but refrain from giving him the hug I’d like to bestow. I can hardly play favorites in front of a live audience.

The post-game interview is, as always, quick and remarkably unimaginative no matter how hard I try to make it interesting. Max provides well-spoken and thoughtfully quiet answers for the camera. It’s not until we cut the live feed that his smile meets his eyes and he steps forward to engulf me in a very sweaty, very welcome hug.

“Hello, my friend,” I greet him, tightening my arms as best I can around his chest guard. We so rarely see each other in person these days, and the pain of missing him has yet to get any easier.

“God, I fucking love it when we play Toronto,” he says, letting me go and beaming happily. “How are you?”

“Well, I can’t say I care for the outcome of that game, but I can’t complain otherwise. And you?”

Max laughs. “I’m great. Really great. Hey, did you see?—"

“That Coach Mackenzie and Anthony Lawson were married?” I fill in, still unable to use Coach’s first name no matter how many years it’s been since I’ve played for him. Old habits, I suppose. “I am, in fact, astounded that it has taken so long.”

“Right?” He snorts, shaking his head. “I’m so happy for them, though. I wish we didn’t have to fly back tonight. I would have liked to catch up with you.”

“Yes,” I agree. “But I do have news—good news, I think—on that front. I’ll be covering All-Star weekend this year, which means that you, Carter, and I will all be in attendance. I’m assuming Zeke will be joining him, and Luke with you?”

“He wasn’t sure whether he was going to make the trip, but now he will! Holy shit, this is going to be incredible. Have you told Carter?”

“I have not. I was thinking it might be a fun surprise.”

Another forceful snort. Max’s face shines with delight. “Fun for us. Carter hates surprises.”

“Indeed.”

“So, I take that to mean Atlas will be coming as well?”

“Indeed,” I repeat. Max’s smile turns playful.

“Any other wedding announcements on the horizon?” he asks .

Max, who has always been the better communicator between my two oldest friends, is well aware of how I feel about marriage. Specifically, how I feel about marriage to Atlas. He knows that I purchased a ring over two years ago, and that I have yet to make use of it.

“I am playing the long game,” I respond, making him laugh again. Checking the watch I received as a birthday gift from my brother, I grimace up at my friend. “If you had not gone into overtime and a shootout, we would have had more time. I thought you were an All-Star, Max—could you not have scored sooner?”

Grinning, he puts a hand on my shoulder and pulls me into another hug.

“I’ll see you in February,” he confirms. “Drive home safe tonight.”

Max re-enters the locker room after a final, cheerful wave, and I make my own exit from the arena. Atlas will long be home by now, probably stretched out on the couch, watching something other than a hockey game. It’s bitterly cold outside, with fat snowflakes falling lazily from the dark sky. Sitting in my car and giving it a few moments to heat up, I send a quick text to Atlas to let him know I’ll be there soon.

Atlas

Drive safe. Want something to eat?

Henri

I can make something when I get home.

Atlas

I’ll do it. Did your team win at the hockey?

Henri

No, Max won at the hockey tonight.

Leaving now. See you soon. I love you.

Locking my phone and slipping it back into the pocket of my suit jacket, I put the car in drive and carefully leave the parking lot. My phone doesn’t buzz with a return text, and I hadn’t expected it to. I try to tell Atlas as much as possible how much he means to me. That I love him, and I treasure every year we’ve spent together. He doesn’t tell me he loves me back, but I don’t need him to.

I hear the words in the way he supports my career, even though it means late nights and extensive periods apart. I feel the words in the quiet, accepting way he treats me. He never pushes, or asks for more than I can give. He is, in all ways, the perfect partner. I do not need to hear I love you to know it is true.

When I get home, the front light is on and the TV playing low. As I suspected, he’s on the couch, legs tucked under a blanket and a mug cradled in his hands. One of his own, handmade mugs, unless I am mistaken.

“Hello, B?rchen,” I greet him fondly, leaning over the back of the couch to kiss the top of his dark head. I shrug off my American accent the same way I shrug off my suit jacket. I’ve worked hard the last few years, making sure my broadcasts are all easily understood by dampening my accent. Atlas prefers for me to sound German, though, so I happily don’t have to pretend at home.

“Hey. Soup in the kitchen for you. It’s in the microwave—should still be warm.”

Grabbing my soup, I settle next to Atlas, who lifts the blanket obligingly. Tucking it around my legs, he leans heavily against me. Feeling sentimental after my conversation with Max, I wrap my arm around him and rest my cheek against his head. The TV is muted, casting light over the dark room. Atlas makes no move to turn the volume back up, merely snuggles into me, breathing softly as I sip from my mug of soup.

“I ran out of ChapStick today,” he says suddenly, as though he’s continuing a conversation we’d already been having.

“Okay. I can pick some up tomorrow?”

“My lips get really dry in the winter, you know?” I nod, because I do know that. I’m unsure why I’m being told this story, but am willing to see where he is going with it. The way he’s talking, I already feel as though I’ve missed a few pertinent sentences. “So, I checked the bathroom thinking maybe we had some spares. And then I couldn’t find any, and so I thought maybe Henri has one in his drawer. ”

Atlas stops talking, and I stop breathing. Atlas and I share everything, but by some mutual, unspoken agreement, our bedside tables are strictly our own. It is the only place in our house I felt comfortable that Atlas wouldn’t stumble upon the engagement ring I’d bought.

“I see,” I murmur, waiting him out in the hope that maybe he is telling me this for a different reason. Maybe Atlas, who is allergic to romance, did not recognize a ring box when he saw it. He sits up, tucking a leg underneath himself and looking at me with a frown on his face.

“I love you,” he says in a stern, almost forceful voice. “I know I don’t say it. I should , but it’s not easy for me.”

“I know that. I do not need you to say it.”

“Except, apparently you do, because you have a ring and a receipt dated two years ago ,” he says, voice thin and anxious. “Why haven’t you asked?”

“Because I did not know what you would say,” I tell him truthfully. He breathes in sharply, eyes widening. My hand, which had gotten dislodged when he moved, is resting on his shoulder. I squeeze it, gently. “Atlas. I would have bought that ring and asked you to marry me the day we graduated had I thought you might say yes. I have always been sure of you—of us.”

“You thought I’d say no.”

“I thought that I would give you time,” I correct gently. “Just because I knew you were it for me, does not mean that you were at the same place. I did not want to give you an impossible choice.”

He stares at me for a moment, before repeating his earlier words: “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I smile at him. I didn’t need to hear it, but it feels nice all the same. “Now, about?—"

“If someone were to ask me something—anything—I’d probably say yes,” he interrupts. “I’m feeling pretty agreeable.”

“Oh? I suppose there is a first time for everything.” Atlas’ lips twitch. I touch a finger to his cheek, smoothing the pad over his skin. “Atlas.”

“Yeah?”

“You are the world to me. You are a blessing, and a gift. I am the happiest man alive with you beside me. Atlas—my love, my B?rchen—would you marry me?”

“Yes,” he whispers. “Of course I will. You’re it for me, too. You’ve always been it for me, even when I was too dumb to see it.”

“Atlas, you have been holding out on me. That sounded like a wedding vow. I thought I was the romantic one?”

He laughs, hooking an arm around my neck and pulling me in for a kiss. It would have been nice to skate with Max tonight. To play one more game, the way I long to do when I’m sitting in the broadcasting booth and missing the past. To score a goal and hear the crowd cheer. But even that dream pales in comparison to this. I do not need anything else, so long as I can have my Atlas.